


Demon Days

by NowThatWereDone



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark Humor, Ghost Allison Argent, Mystery, Romance, post 3b
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1481104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowThatWereDone/pseuds/NowThatWereDone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nogitsune is gone and Allison Argent is dead. She's been dead for months now. That's what makes the phone call Lydia receives from her all the more concerning/ Or, the McCall pack has to deal with yet another supernatural problem that has fallen on Beacon Hills's door step.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Grave Call

**Author's Note:**

> I'm excited for this story. And while this chapter is kind of angtsy, I don't want you to think it's gonna be all doom-and-gloom forever. Though, let's be honest, this is Teen Wolf. Doom and Gloom is in the job description.

Lydia Martin isn't crazy. 

Sure, a few years ago the girl had been convinced she was suffering from a mental lapse. And, yeah, others had sort of felt the same way when she took off in freezing weather to run throughout the forest doing God knows what (dead body hunting, maybe, but she didn't know a thing about that at the time). Still. Lydia's learned enough about herself to understand the strange abilities she's burdened with, to know that, no, she is not hearing made up voices talking in her head. These are actual spirits speaking actual words. 

They're not always helpful. They're not always clear. And sometimes, instead of words they play back sounds and expect her to decode the riddle (by the way, Lydia Martin hates riddles, especially after the run in with the sadistic, best-friend-killing nogitsune). 

All of that, however, is besides the point. The point is that Lydia Martin, beautiful, talented, Lydia Martin isn't crazy. Maybe still a little depressed due to the demise of Allison and Aiden a few months ago. Maybe a little confused as to what her emotions mean. And maybe she's worried that, despite the pack's best efforts, Kate Argent had yet again vanished into thin air, luckily leaving Derek behind. But crazy? No. She's not.

That's how she knows what she's hearing isn't a figment of her imagination. 

She'd been calling Allison. Sometimes, Lydia does that just so she can hear her friend's voice again. Because, yes, she's moved on and can smile and pretend that everything's okay (even though it's really not) but even the strong, independent Lydia Martin needs a bit of comfort every once in a while. A sisterly kind of comfort. The kind of comfort that Allison was always so good at providing. 

Lydia had made her way to her bedroom after a particularly long day of school, plopped down into the corner, and dialed Allison's number as always. She'd memorized the amount of times it took Allison's phone to ring before her voice mail buzzed through.

" _Hi, this is Allison! Sorry I'm not here right now, leave your message at the--"_ And then the phone would beep. Lydia used to pester Allison about that, whine that it was too corny. Now she was only upset because it was too short. 

Today was different.

Today, Lydia dialed Allison's number. Today she placed the phone against her ears. Today she hears the phone ringing, ringing five times before the automatic message kicks in.

_Hi, this is Allison!_

Lydia leans her head back against the wall, allowing the familiar sound of Allison's voice soothe away her misfortunes of the day. 

_Sorry I'm not here right now._

Lydia tries not to hear the double meaning in the phrase, focusing solely on Allison's voice as she places a hand over her face.

_Leave your message at the--_

She waits for it, the part that always tears her best friend away too soon, the God-forsaken beep. She waits for it. She waits for it, but it never comes. Lydia's hand slowly slides down to her chin as she sits up straighter, as though the change in posture will make the phone beep. Lydia still doesn't hear a beep. Instead, she hears a clicking sound, like someone picking up the phone. Instead she hears a soft, shaking voice on the other end.

" _Lydia_?"

Lydia sits up. 

"Hello?" She asks. She shouldn't. She  _knows_ she shouldn't. But the voice on the other end, it sounds like--

" _Lydia, it's me-- Lydia, it's Allison._ "


	2. The Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! Woo! I hope you guys enjoy! Please leave comments--- and guess who/what you think Allison's trying to warn them about! It may be someone we know or some new supernatural creature, mwahhahaha.

It can’t be. It just cannot be.

The thought becomes something of a mantra for Lydia, the only thing keeping her from plunging into insanity as she sits in the darkness of her room. Her breath is labored, her body is shaking, her hands are slick… It’s something akin to a panic attack, but Lydia knows it can’t be. Not to her, never to her. If there’s one thing Lydia Martin always strives to be, it’s in control. And yet she’s on the phone with her dead best friend and-and-and--

_It just can’t be._

“ _L-Lydia? Are you there_?” Her voice shakes as she speaks. She sounds weak. _Weak_. Not dead. Lydia presses her lips together, trying to determine if this is just another cruel dream. Though, it could’ve been real, Lydia can’t tell. Having banshee powers often warrants strange happenings. So maybe Lydia’s voice is filled with a little _too_ much hope as she clutched her phone tighter.

“Allison, I’m here,” Lydia answers almost immediately, “Allison, I’ve always been here.” _You’re the one who left_. But Lydia doesn’t say that. She doesn’t want to chase her friend away. On the other end, Lydia can hear ruffling, and then Allison’s back, her breathing heavy in the receiver.

Dead people don’t breathe.

“ _Lydia, you have to listen to me,”_ Allison says, “ _something’s happening._ ” Of course something is happening. Allison is on the phone. _Dead_ Allison! Lydia can’t tell if she’s devastated or elated, terrified or awe-filled. She feels split between a number of emotions, though this isn’t entirely new to Lydia as she’s been through this before.

Watching Stiles and Malia act all chummy has a similar effect, albeit to a much lesser degree.

A few seconds pass and Lydia worries. Allison hasn’t said anything in a while. All the girl can hear is rustling on the other line, rustling that she can’t quite place but sounds eerily familiar. And then, just as her heart has lodged itself good and firm in the base of her throat, just as she’s about ready to scream for her best friend to return, she hears Allison again.

She’s speaking softer this time, as if trying to speak without someone else knowing she was there. Who that someone is, Lydia doesn’t know.

“ _Lydia, listen to me,”_ Allison whispers, “ _there’s something coming for Beacon Hills. Something bad._ ” Lydia scrunches her eyebrows together at this ominous warning.

“What do you mean? How are you even talking to me? Allison, what’s going on?” More questions spill passed her lips than the petite banshee had planned, but it’s not her fault. Supernatural situations tended to explode into a whole surplus of problems, problems Scott and his pack would have to deal with.

“ _Lydia, I can’t---too much---have to---Scott, tell Scott_.” And now Allison’s voice is cutting in and out. Lydia strains to make out the words the late hunters is saying, but it’s almost like Allison is driving through a tunnel. An impossibility, seeing as dead girls don’t drive.

_Dead girls don’t make phone calls either_.

But Lydia is willing to ignore some of the rules of nature for this situation because she refuses to think she’s anything but completely sane and capable of understanding her banshee powers. So she continues listening to Allison’s warnings, no matter how garbled they sound.

“ _I have a feeling—I saw—danger—Scott has to—Lydia, please, tell Scott, Lydia—Lydia!”_ She can’t understand, not really. And when she starts hearing Allison’s sharp intakes of breath and a quiet moan, she knows her friend is crying out of desperation. Lydia’s heart nearly shatters.

“Allison,” Lydia says, almost to tears herself as she’d much rather be talking to her friend under better circumstances, “Allison, I can’t understand you, Allison, please slow down.” But it’s too late. The line is dead. Allison Argent is gone once again.

*

It isn’t at all how Scott thought it’d end, but finally- _finally-_ the young Alpha can take a breath. A labored breath. A defeated breath. But still, a breath is a breath. Scott McCall is still living with a beating heart. That’s more than most people can say.

(That’s more than Allison can say.)

At the mention of the deceased huntress, Scott feels his eyes water and his jaws tighten in anger. Thinking about Allison always leaves him feeling… not quite dead, but definitely not alive and well. A depressing place in between. Limbo, bardo, whatever.

“Scott?” Scott looks up at the mention of his name to where his mother is standing. She’s putting her nurse’s coat on, though her movements are quite lackadaisical. Most of her focus is on her only son. Most of her worry is on her only son. “I’m, uh… I’m going to work Are you okay for dinner?” Scott nods. Melissa waits for him to say something, something Scott-like, but he doesn’t.

After a strained silence, Melissa wipes at her eyes and then strides across the room to wrap her arms around Scott. Scott doesn’t fight it, quickly returning the embrace as he buries his face in the crook of his mother’s neck. He doesn’t know if she’ll die today. He doesn’t know if he will. The death of both Allison and Aiden- the two only seventeen- reminds Scott about things like mortality and random selection.

You never know who’s going to die, who’s going to be stolen from you. And Scott isn’t sure he can protect them all, not when he failed Aiden, not when he failed Allison.

“I love you, Scott,” Melissa whispers into her son’s ears before hurrying off to work. She knows he won’t say it back this time. He’s much too tired and worn down and broken for that. She knows he’s still going through the motions, she knows he isn’t entirely Scott McCall right now, she knows he’s still healing.

So Melissa puts on a brave face as she moves to the front door, preparing to leave her home to work in a place full of people like Scott –mentally and physically- when she hears a soft reply that nearly melts her heart.

“I love you, too, Mom.” Melissa knows she can’t stop; that would make Scott feel awkward. So she settles for beaming like an idiot at their front door before exiting their house. She sees a familiar gangly kid walking up their front door steps and decides to leave the door open for him. It’s not like he doesn’t have a key.

As he passes, Melissa reaches out and pulls him into a hug. Of all the people, including her son, she’s worried about _him_ the most. Stiles Stilinski. The formerly possessed, formerly abused, formerly manipulated Stiles Stilinski. So she hugs him and hugs him tight, pressing a kiss against his temple.

“I love you, too, Stiles. We all do.” He needs to hear it. That’s why she says it. And then she’s off to work and he’s off inside and their paths separate for the time being.

Inside, Scott’s still sitting down at his kitchen table, thinking about things like premature death and what not. He can hear footsteps approaching him. He knows they’re Stiles. Stiles walks a bit irregularly, not as a steady cadence, but on-and-off, like he starts and stops to look at something and then continues on again. It’s a familiar sound.

Before Scott can turn all the way around, he can feel Stiles place a hand on his shoulder. An act of comfort. Guilt soon follows the friendly gesture. Of all people, Stiles needs comfort, not Scott.

Stiles has been taking everything with a surprising amount of calm, easing his way back into school only a week after his “mental lapse”. Well, the term ‘easing’ implies Stiles hadn’t spent hours each night bawling into his pillow, struggling to even look at himself in the mirror.

Stiles doesn’t tell Scott these things, but Scott knows. Of course Scott knows. Aside from the fact that his sense of smell picks out everybody’s emotions better each day, Stiles is Scott’s best friend. He knows when Stiles is upset. Or devastated. Either or.

And more often than not, the scent of devastation wafts off of Stiles’s being. He’s the one who needs comfort, not Scott. Scott is supposed to fix things. He is an alpha after all. Not that he ever felt like one…

“Hey, Scott,” Stiles greets with a forced smile. “I was just coming by to come by.” Scott nods to the seat beside him.

“Have you eaten yet?” Scott asks. A pointless question.

“Yeah, but I’ll still have whatever you have.” Stiles typically eats two evening meals whenever he stops by at Scott’s house. Recently, he’s eaten more and more, his body’s reaction to having the life literally sucked out of it. It’s been a few months, though, so Stiles’s condition has significantly improved.

Scott gets to his feet and is starting to prepare some kind of meal. While he does this, Stiles messes with his phone, absently scrolling through his pages of apps, apps he hasn’t touched in a while seeing as his life is a constant battle between school work and werewolves (mostly werewolves).

As he tinkers, Stiles feels his phone vibrate. He turns the device over to see who texted him. When he sees the name, his heart beat quickens.

There was a time when Stiles and Lydia were quite close. Before the nogitsune took hold, before he met Malia… Before. Lydia had always been a guarded person, but for a brief moment in time, it was almost as though she were beginning to open up to him, as though he _wasn’t_ wasting his life pining away for a girl who’s so clearly out of his league…

But then Aiden came back and Lydia (despite her constant denials) went running back to him. For a while, Stiles resented this, because he knows Lydia deserves better than _Aiden_. Now, he has his doubts. In his death, Aiden proved to be a truly transformed person. Maybe he was worthy of Lydia’s love after all. Maybe Stiles never had a chance.

But even after Aiden, Lydia still buzzed around Stiles. It actually wasn’t until Stiles and Malia started talking that Lydia started to back away. At first, Stiles thought Lydia disliked Malia. But then, one day, he saw the two chatting on the way to physics. That’s when he pieced together that it wasn’t Malia Lydia was avoiding, but _Stiles_ himself. So a text from her was quite bizarre. Still, Stiles opens the message with as much vigor as he usually does.

It’s just his name, he realizes, but seconds later, a rapid succession of messages flood into his phone.

- _Spoke to Allison_

_-she gave a warning_

_-Tell Scott_

Stiles blinks, feeling a mixture of emotions stirring inside of him. He doesn’t question Lydia (he’s learned not to) and turns to his best friend hopelessly rummaging through the cabinets to find food that he can actually make without burning down the house. Stiles glances back down at the phone, at the life changing messages, then back at Scott. Broken Scott. Healing Scott. A Scott who might not be able to handle having the world pulled out from under him again, not so soon.

But what else can Stiles do? Scott’s an alpha and Scott is Scott. He solves problems and Stiles helps him. The pack, they get involved in things. It’s what they do. Even when they don’t want to. Even when they shouldn’t. Even when they can’t. Stiles looks at Scott’s back one more time, at how much less robotic the Hispanic teen has become over the months as the mourning slid away with each passing week.

Stiles frowns before opening his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this!


	3. The Discussion (and ignoring Stiles)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -this story will definitely pick up speed soon, I just only have time for short updates for now... but when summer comes... :) also, I plan on reducing the angst level soon-

The McCall house looks just like it did the last time Lydia dropped by, and a sense of comfort floods through the petite girl’s body as she approaches the door. She can’t count how many times she’s been here in the last few months. She walks up the familiar driveway, smiling almost. Almost. When she remembers her true purpose, the smile quickly melts off of her face.  

She is here to talk to Scott about Allison. _Dead_ Allison. And she knows how much the girl’s death affected the young Alpha. She hates being the one to bring it up, hates being the one to hurt him. Lydia bites her lip, staring at the front door and unsure of how to proceed. Luckily, she doesn’t have to ponder long. The door swings open without her even having to knock.

She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath, hoping it’s Stiles who answers the door. She can deal with Stiles. Despite everything he’s been through, the Stilinski oddly hadn’t fallen apart. This may be in part due to the fact that, prior to exorcising the Nogitsune, Stiles had time to come to terms with what was happening. Or, he was just a really good actor. Lydia doesn’t know. Stiles doesn’t talk to her that much anymore.

“Lydia?” _Damn_. It’s Scott, complete with the sad puppy dog eyes that twists Lydia’s gut into what feels like permanent, guilt-induced knots. “Are you okay?” How can he look at her like that, like _she’s_ the broken one? Lydia isn’t the one who’d blocked out the world for a good four weeks. She isn’t the one who could’ve been found asleep by Allison’s headstone every day. She isn’t the one who’d held onto Allison’s cold, lifeless body.

She isn’t the one who got to say goodbye.

(She _is_ the one who still has a little trouble looking at Kira, because when she glances over at the kitsune, for a moment, she sees Allison.)

But still. Lydia Martin isn’t the mourning type, not really. Of course Allison’s death broke her apart. Of course nothing is (and ever will be) the same. But Lydia Martin is too stubborn to let life beat her down. She picks up the weight it gives her and continues to function. In fact, Lydia might be doing better than everyone.

Freaking Isaac _left_.

So, no, Lydia didn’t need pity. Not even pity from Scott.

“I’m fine.” Her voice is stone, and Scott flinches at the harshness. Once again guilt swarms inside Lydia’s chest. She might (claim to) be invincible, but Scott McCall… he’s not. “Thank you for asking,” she quickly adds. “It’s just not every day I get calls from dead people.” And then she forces her way into Scott’s house. They have a lot to talk about.

Inside sits a nervous Stiles, who’s trying not to look Lydia’s way. Heavy emphasis on the word _trying._ A fond smile threatens to form when Lydia sees Stiles’s hazel eyes flash towards her before falling back to his plate of what Lydia guesses is spaghetti. Probably Scott’s doing. Lydia snorts at the sad excuse for a meal before returning her gaze to Stiles.

Clearly, he’s still battling the urge to look at Lydia. Frustration comes, and before she knows what she’s doing, Lydia storms across the room and plops into the chair opposite of Stiles. She can practically feel his heart beat galloping (or is that _her_ heart?).

“Are you really not going to say anything to me?” Stiles (who’s now looking at Lydia, though still struggling with maintaining eye contact) blinks helplessly at the loaded question. Then, keeping true to the typical nature of Stiles Stilinski, the teen begins a string of utterances to assuage Lydia’s anger.

“I, uh, well you see my mouth was kinda full with, you know, this and, um, I wasn’t sure you still wanted to talk to me because, well, I don’t know, and--” Scott enters, saving his best friend from embarrasment.

“So,” Scott says as he re-enters the room, “Phone call.”

Right. That’s the reason Lydia’s here, not patronizing Stiles. The strawberry blonde pulls her phone out of her shorts pocket and tosses it to Scott.

“There’s a documented time there where me and Allison’s conversation took place. Her phone, though, is still being held in police custody.” Because Sheriff Stilinski liked to put up a front to the other clueless cops that Allison’s murder case was still open. Lydia doesn’t mind. She can still call Allison.

Scott takes a look at Lydia’s call log. His eyes widen.

“You were on for fifteen minutes?” She’s not sure if it’s surprise or fear in Scott’s voice. Probably both.

“Yes,” Lydia answers, “but she wasn’t talking the whole time. It was like we had really bad reception or she’d stop to do…” She trails off when she realizes there’s a lot about the conversation that she doesn’t know about herself. Why _had_ Allison taken such long breaks? Scott notes Lydia’s contemplative expression before continuing.

“What did she say?”

“She passed me a warning. It wasn’t clear, but she tried telling me that something bad is coming.”

Scott nods slowly, taking in a breath before moving over to stand by the sink. At first Lydia is curious, but when she sees Scott reach his tanned arms out to latch onto the sides of the sink, holding on for support, she knows he needs something to lean on.

_She knows what this means to him_.

“Is Allison…” Scott hesitates. “Does that mean she could be… _alive_?” Hope. Tragic hope. It breaks Lydia’s heart (it breaks Lydia’s everything, but she’s strong, she won’t show it, she’ll suck it up until she’s home alone).  

“I…” Lydia has no answer. On the one hand, she’s a banshee. Communicating with the dead isn’t exactly a new thing for her. But on the other hand… Lydia hadn’t heard a thing from anyone close to the pack who’s passed. Not Boyd, not Erica…

Not Aiden.

How had Allison figured out how to communicate with her? And if it was supernatural, would it have appeared on her phone? Generally, no one else could see and hear the things she could but suddenly, there is proof? No, this doesn’t make sense. She needs more information, she needs more time, she needs to talk to Allison again, she needs--

Lydia straightens in her chair. Stiles notices, opening his mouth to question her, but he’s ignored her enough to deserve a little cold shoulder she thinks and instead she hops off her chair and makes a pointed bee-line to the front door.

“Lydia?” Stiles calls after her. “Lydia, where are you going?” She doesn’t answer, just keeps walking. Because she knows she needs to speak to Allison again. And she knows just who she needs to ask for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for the kudos and hits guys, you're so flawless!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Because if Lydia has a connection to the dead I believe she can still communicate with Allison some times.  
> ALSO: this story takes place after 3b, and is pretty much AU-ish after that since nobody knows what S4 is gonna be like and I just kind of glided over that time period.


End file.
